Don't Like

The young Chicago rapper and Chief Keef sound-alike signed to Def Jam this month. His debut mixtape is an extension of he and Keef's shared aesthetic, and in that sense it's a worthy follow-up to one of the most important mixtapes of the year.

"I Don't Like" made Chief Keef a star, but he wasn't the only one. Producer Young Chop got himself a deal with Warner Bros., and has moved on to do bigger (if not better) things, namely beefing with Kanye West and working with rappers like Gucci Mane and Big Sean. Then there's Lil Reese, the Keef sound-alike whose verse has been immortalized on t-shirts sponsored by the Chicago rap blog Fake Shore Drive. Reese signed to Def Jam this month, and subsequently released his debut mixtape, Don't Like, which is hosted by DJ Drama presumably as a reminder of how intensely focused the rap industry is on these kids. The mixtape will likely get Reese tagged as a Keef reincarnation, and the hallmarks of Keef's Back From the Dead are all here: the horror-score beats, the halting flow, the frighteningly emotionless invoking of violence and the absolute distrust of anyone outside the circle. But Reese isn't a Keef copycat; instead, Don't Like is an extension of their shared aesthetic, and in that sense it's a worthy follow-up to one of the most important mixtapes of the year.

It's also in its own right an important document of the city of Chicago in 2012. Reese and Keef are national figures now, but it's impossible to detach Don't Like from their home city, one with a murder rate so high that Reese (and other rappers) casually refers to it as "Chiraq." That is the backdrop that the mixtape is set against, and though looking out for only yourself, your friends, and your family has long been the base worldview of gangsta rap, there is something patently different about the expression of Don't Like. Reese takes Keef's lack of emotion and turns it down a notch even further, routinely blurring the line between rapping and talking. The result are songs that are a string of survivalist mantras. Lines like, "At the top it's just us, nigga/ But I don't really trust niggas," "I lost so many niggas I turned into a savage," and "Never switch up on your niggas, that's bad for your health," hang over the tape even after Reese has moved on. This is a stirring work, powered by beats that are often densely packed with ideas, but it is at its core a group of songs strictly about Lil Reese and his crew outlasting what their environment has made them into. Rarely do they seem enlivened by the task.

A distinction does need to be made, though. Reese is not Keef, and though Don't Like works as street rap zeitgeist, it isn't pop music. As the aforementioned "Fredo in the cut" shirts emphasize, Reese has a knack for popping off lines that stick until they are outright slogans. But there is nothing on Don't Like that ascends to the heights of "I Don't Like" or "3Hunna", the tracks that beamed Keef onto a national stage. His remoteness also doesn't always circle back to charisma the way that it does with Keef. Take, for instance, "Rap Shit", one of their two collaborations here. Keef murmurs a chorus that is palpably weary, but he snaps off his lines in a way that conveys unwavering determination-- you can almost hear him fighting himself. It's the type of starring moment that Keef has a predilection for.

Admittedly, though, there's no real reason to judge Lil Reese by what Chief Keef has done. Both (along with a host of other Chicago rappers) have burrowed their way into contemporary gangsta rap and sliced out their own niche, one that is on the verge of defining the year in both the genre and the city, if it hasn't already. Keef will still get most of the pub, but Don't Like proves with only 10 tracks that Reese can stand on his own.